“Is that a truck stop up there?” I sat up and stretched my neck.
“Yeah. You gotta go?”
“Barely holding it right now. And I’m fucking starving.”
“You got it.” She still hadn’t looked at me.
Tatum pulled into the florescent truck stop and found a spot in the front. I made a beeline for the bathroom; she lingered in the gift shop.
Sweet release.
“Better?” she asked, as I exited the ladies room. Her smiling face finally pointed in my direction.
“Yeah, lots. You hungry?”
“Very. They have a taqueria in the back. You game?”
“I’m always game for explosive diarrhea.” I smiled back to her and it seemed as though we had found our niche again.
We both placed our orders and found a booth with the least amount of graffiti on it.
“I don’t really think there are real vampires. You know that right?” I asked Tatum seriously.
“I’d like to think not. Although…” She trailed off as she left the table to retrieve our dinner.
We sat and ate silently for a few moments until the feelings of voraciousness wore off.
“You have to admit, there are some really fucked-up people involved in this underground vampire scene. Any one of them could be our villain. What if it’s Malcolm? Boosting his clientele by making vampires into something tangible.”
“What if it’s Cyrus?” she said quickly as though she had been thinking it for a while now.
“Cyrus? He’s a doofus. Why would he be in on it?” I was slightly defensive I’ll admit. But I had already nearly accused him outright in my own thoughts once that day.
“You never know, right?” she said simply.
“What about Reggie?” I was trying to steer the subject away from Cyrus.
“That little waif couldn’t physically hurt anyone.”
“Unless she had super human vampire abilities.” I smiled around my taco.
“True. Unless she had that.”
“You know who I vote for? That atrocious Russian whore, Dominika. Now that bitch is terrifying.”
“She is really scary. If anyone has super vampire powers, it’s that bitch.” I nodded agreeing with her statement.
We ate quietly for a while longer. I enjoyed people watching. I ate and looked around at people coming through the door, ordering their food, pumping their gas; it’s all very fascinating.
“What if it’s Mike?” she spoke suddenly.
I looked at Tatum like she had just stabbed me through the heart. Why would she ever say a thing like that?
“Not Mike. Never Mike.” I stared at her straight faced, scared she would pursue the theory.
“Just saying if this were a movie, Mike would make a great plot twist.” She said lighthearted and moved on. “Okay, so what have we narrowed it down to?”
“Well, we left out one key possibility.”
“What’s that?” she asked, swallowing her last bite of food.
“What if we don’t know and never will? What if the villain is a mystery guest who doesn’t appear until the last scene?”
“Because that would be boring, and my story is not boring.” She laughed and took a drink of her iced tea.
“I wish it was that easy. So, let’s just say, for fun’s sake, the impossible were true. What if there really were vampires? What then?” I knew she would begin questioning my sanity very shortly.
“Well, hypothetically, if there really were vampires then we could potentially be in pretty big danger don’t you think? If we are speaking about a hypothetical instance, then we could imagine any gruesome thing. Seeing as though vampires are things of legend and myth, we could assume everything is true. And if that were the case, then we’re in way over our heads.” The look on her face made me shudder.
“If it were possible.” She nodded in concurrence. “Otherwise, we could assume that a man who thinks himself a vampire could execute the same damage and not have super powers. In fact, the entire thing seems a bit messy for a professional, if you ask me.” I shrugged as I spoke.
“What makes you see it as messy? I see a methodical, educated individual; someone with reasonable knowledge of the medical field. I see someone who knows exactly what they want and knows how to get it. However, I also see lustfulness; an uncontrollable need to feed. If one were to utilize my analogy, one could reasonably make the comparison to vampirism, and they would be right.” She was really starting to freak me out. She was sounding worse than me at this point. At least my vampire theory came about during a complete psychotic break. She spoke as though the prospect of actual vampires was not only possible but down right plausible.
“And what does this tell us?” I tried to keep up with her thought process. Careful to not agree with her too eagerly.
“We watch way too much TV.” She took another sip of her tea as I released the breath I had been holding.
“That may work to our advantage. Obviously whoever’s drinking the blood of hookers and exotic dancers thinks himself a vampire, or at least feels the need for blood. The more we are aware of the possible behavior of such a person, the more efficient hunters we will be. And if in the event Malcolm and the lot of them pop out of the shadows hissing and flashing fang, well, we’ll be prepared for that too.” I smiled and picked up my garbage.
“I’m glad we’ve got our wits about us.” She chuckled to herself as she cleaned up her mess as well and we both made our way to the trash bin.
“You ever think that maybe the vampire craze has caused…well…a vampire crazy? It has happened before you know. Richard Trenton Chase killed people and drank their blood to keep the Nazi’s away. Granted, he was a complete basket case, but, it wouldn’t take much to throw a teen over the blood sucking edge,” I said, utilizing the small amount of information I gather from a vampire documentary on the History channel. She was quiet for a few moments while we got into the car.
“It is possible. I think there’s a lot more to all of this. I hope, anyway. God, how boring would that be. Teen turns vamp tramp wreaks havoc on cities. Well, it’ll make for a decent book, I guess,” Tatum said as she turned the car on and made her way back to the freeway.
The sun was beginning to descend slowly revealing shades of pinks and purples in the sky above us. It would be dark soon.
There had better be no such things as vampires or we are in deep shit.
CHAPTER 15
It was after eight when we hit our first exit for Fresno. It looked like a mini L.A., just as dirty and dank only without the swanky snobs that fill Los Angeles. The town I thought to be a small hick village was beginning to appear as a sprawling metropolis. We were on the freeway for quite some time before we reached an area of town that seemed reasonable enough to get off at.
Tatum flipped her signal and merged onto Shaw Ave; traffic was crap. We could hardly squeeze into the lane as other motorists were paying no mind to the yellow light and the backed up lane.
“Get outta my way, asshole!” Tatum screamed out her window.
We pulled into the first well-lit fast food joint we came across. Tatum typed the word hotel into her GPS. A few clicks of a button and we were back on the road seconds later. We ended up at the La Quintana just up the street.
“Like a little L.A., huh?” Tatum asked as she exited the car.
“Yeah, just a little.” I got out too and stretched my legs. We were in a weird part of town. It was like someone threw a bunch of brightly colored businesses into the middle of a field. There were a few dilapidated buildings hidden away in dark corners, but I could see brighter lights in the distance. I expected we were only on the edge of town and the fun stuff was just over that way.
Tatum and I checked in and got our little plastic room key. We had nowhere to begin and not a friend in sight. All we had was the number Mike had given me for his friend who works for the police department.
“Ugh. I need to check in with Mike before he sends the search p
arty.” Grabbing my phone, I plopped down on the bed.
The other line rang. And rang. Answer damn it!
“Yeah.” Mikes sleepy voice came over the line.
“You’re still sleeping? You were asleep when we saw you at noon. It’s now eight thirty.”
“Yeah, I’m fucking tired okay. Multiple homicides mean little sleep for Mike. You didn’t call when you left. I waited for your call and fell asleep. Where are you?” He sounded annoyed.
“We are staying at the La Quintana on Shaw in Fresno. It’s like L.A. here just without the cool shit. We’re going to get some sleep and get started in the morning. We’ve been running through ideas and I think we have a solid one. Just gotta see if I can’t pinpoint my instincts.” I smiled proud of my detective abilities.
“Yeah, you do that, just be fucking careful. Did you take your gun?” I was surprised he asked that, seeing as though he hated the fact that I bought it in the first place.
“Yeah, right here in my bag. Don’t worry, all we’re doing is picking up some paper from a cop. How dangerous can that be?” I lied. I had brought my gun, but in no way did I plan on merely retrieving documents.
“Whatever. Don’t get into trouble or I’ll kill you myself. Call me tomorrow.” I expected him to hang up but the line remained open.
“Okay grouch. Get some sleep. Night, Mike.”
“Night, babe.” The phone clicked dead at that point. I told myself he was half asleep and recalling conversations from eons ago. I didn’t believe myself either.
“Sleepy time.” Tatum was curling up into her bed.
I left the room and changed my clothes for bed. My stomach was tight with anticipation of the following events.
Just my luck we’ll leave here even more confused than we are now.
I snuggled in my bed too, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
I awoke with the knowledge that last night was the first eight hours I’d gotten in a week. I felt fantastic. Tatum and I didn’t waste any time. She and I were up and dressed in record time. I’d made the phone call to Mike’s ‘friend’, no names needed.
“Where is it that we’re supposed to meet that guy?” Tatum asked while applying her lipstick.
“He’s going to call back in a minute. He needs to make sure he can get his hands on the files I want.”
“Oh. So who is he? Someone super cool? Ooh, is he hot?”
“Tatum, I only talked to him on the phone. How would I know? Besides, he’s not super cool; he’s a file clerk and he doesn’t work for free.” I sat on the bed and dug through my purse for all the cash I could muster. In the end, I had counted twenty-seven bucks and thirty-two cents. It would have been thirty-three cents but that last penny was mysteriously sticky. I doubt I could get anything but lunch with twenty-seven bucks. I sat pouting on the bed clutching my fives and ones when Tatum came out of the bathroom.
“My goodness, woman. What do you think you’re going to get with that?” she said, astounded by my lack of preparation.
I deepened my pout and began to wonder if I could find my bank around here. I had money in the bank. I doubted the double agent would accept debit cards.
“Here.” Tatum handed me a wad of cash.
“What is this? Where’d you get all this cash?” I was in awe. There had to have been over three hundred bucks in small bills.
“You know I hate banks. That’s my purse stash, kid.” Tatum flashed her best smile and made her way outside for a smoke.
“You think three hundred’s enough?”
“We’ll make it enough,” she called from the doorway.
Moments later, my phone rang. It was the man of the hour. He asked that we meet him at a taco shop on Blackstone. I was kind of glad because I was starving and the truck stop taco had pretty much sucked.
I hung up the phone and threw my shoes on. I had no idea where I was or where I was headed so I told Tatum the cross streets. We would have to depend on her GPS from here on out.
Driving through town, I began to realize that Fresno is a cluster fuck. In L.A., there are definite lines between suburbs and business sections, in the main city anyway. Here it was a mottled mess of sprawling homes with three-car garages and upscale elementary schools; clinics and law offices; ghetto two bedroom homes and brightly colored botanicas. Well, I guess it isn’t so different than L.A. - same shit, just crammed into a smaller locale.
The building that held the taco shop was a seventies orange and yellow motif. A once bright yellow sign was now dingy with age. There was graffiti scratched into the glass doors and random decorations clung to the windows. The smell, however, well that was a different story. I was very hungry and that smell was pulling me in like a tractor beam.
Tatum and I posted-up on a concrete bench that sat in front of the building, and waited.
“Can we eat? I’m starving?” I whined.
“Stop whining, we’ll eat when we’re done.” She sounded like my mommy.
I pouted like a child and sat quietly until our new friend arrived. We hadn’t waited very long before a dark blue Honda pulled into the parking lot. The car parked quickly and a young dark skinned man stepped out of the driver’s side. The man glanced around nervously as he walked toward us. He reminded me of a dealer on the streets, and in his hand was my drug.
The man nodded his head toward me and said, “You Dylan?”
I nodded back and we all walked into the restaurant. Without ordering, we all sat in the very back; we didn’t appear suspicious at all.
“I think this is what you want. They are paper copies, taking the originals on an open case would get noticed pretty quickly.” The young man spoke with a slight accent, a mix between Spanish and Californian. He handed me the thick envelope. I noticed a name tattooed on his forearm above a cross and a few roses.
“How much?” I asked harshly with my best poker face on.
“I need the money. I don’t set a price or I wouldn’t get business. All I ask is that you remember this is my job on the line, and that job doesn’t support much.”
I thought about the name on his arm and wondered if it was a child’s name. I reached into my purse and handed him the wad of money.
“You a reporter?” he asked, attempting to keep the look of surprise off his face.
“Usually, yeah.” I opened the envelope and glanced at the first photo. “What’s in here?” I shoved the papers back into the envelope to wait until I’d eaten and prepared myself for more dead girls.
“ME report, photos, a few notes I found in the files. The official reports are still sitting on desks but all of this was together and floating around the precinct already. I keep my mouth shut and pretend I don’t speak English very well and I get left alone.” He smirked.
“Thanks. This will help a lot.” A gave him a little smile. I was hoping he would leave soon so I could eat.
“Yeah, you writing a story?”
“Among other things.” I looked him in the eye intently for a moment. At that, he nodded and left the table. I think he got the hint. He made his way to the counter and picked up an order he must have called in earlier. He waved as he drove away in his little blue Honda.
“That was quick,” Tatum said getting up from the table.
“Yeah. Food now?” I smiled and walked toward the counter.
We stood together before the large yellow sign that held the menu, so many choices. Mostly your typical Mexican food, but one thing did stand out.
What’s a California burrito?
CHAPTER 16
My stomach finally full and now back at the hotel, I was prepared to look through my new purchase. Tatum and I settled in on my bed and opened the envelope. I took all of the photos and laid them out on the bed. Then I matched the ME reports for each girl to their photo. This was a long process seeing as though none of the photos were labeled with name or date. Once I finally had everything laid out as I wanted it, Tatum and I began analyzing the photos.
Beginning with the first vict
im, we scoured every pixel. The first girl seemed to have been the worst. She was a little bruised up, whereas the others weren’t. It was vaguely obvious even to us that this was the first. Sloppy and unorganized, yet there was a certain methodical practice evident that matched the others. Reading the ME report, we discovered that this girl, like the others, had been drugged and bled intravenously, via fissures through non-major veins. Even from the beginning it was obvious that the killer had some form of medical training. The ME report on the first girl stated her name was unknown. She seemed to be a prostitute and a transient. Judging by her hygiene and general appearance, she wasn’t very well taken care of.
The second victim wasn’t much better. She, like the first, was listed as a transient and prostitute. Unlike the first, however, this one had a name: Mary Stewart. She, like the others, was blonde, thin, and no one. She mattered to no one who mattered. She was dead and no one cared. She also had the same incisions and punctures, without the obvious bruises as the first, however. Her eyes were open. I knew her name and I could see her eyes as she lay in a dirty alley, dead.
I had barely mustered up the nerve to look over the third. There wasn’t any difference that we could see between the second and third. She wasn’t a natural blonde like the others, and it showed. I began to wonder if the killer stripped her down and got pissed when he saw she wasn’t a real blonde. There wasn’t any sign of aggravation in the cuts on her wrists, as I would assume there would be if he were upset with her. She had a name too: Brittney Roth, twenty-eight. She looked more like forty-eight; drugs if I had to guess. Meth is the usual suspect.
All of this seemed as though it were a job. Just another girl to kill, no passion in the kill as you might see in other serials. It looked as if the killer felt very comfortable with all but the first. Maybe he got excited for his first or hadn’t planned it out well enough, who knows. But now it seemed the act of draining a body dry was as mundane to him as going to the grocery store.
The Scene (Dylan Hart Odyssey of the Occult Series) Page 13
